


A debt to pay

by blueeyesmakemecry (Blueeyesmakemecry)



Category: S.W.A.T. (TV 2017)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Whump, is it ever a bad time for whump, non-con, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueeyesmakemecry/pseuds/blueeyesmakemecry
Summary: Street hasn’t heard from his mom in several weeks, and he’s worried. Especially after he gets a text from her asking for help. But is it real? Then a raid goes wrong, Street is kidnapped and there’s still no sign of his mom. Street must hold on while the team races to find him before it’s too late.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	A debt to pay

Street hesitated by his locker before heading out with the rest of the team.  
He waited until it was just he and Hondo, then took a deep breath.  
“Hondo--”  
“Hey, Street. We’re rolling out in ten,” Hondo said without looking at him. “Boots on the ground all day at the festival.”  
“I got to talk to you about something first,” Street said. He could feel his hand starting to shake. “Last time this happened, I screwed up real bad. And you know I’m-I’m so grateful to be back on the team again. I would just never want to compromise that or throw that away for anything.”  
“Street, spit it out,” Hondo said, finally turning to look at him.  
“It’s my mom again.”  
“What happened this time?”  
“I’m not sure,” Street said, sighing. “Closest we ever come to crossing anymore is when I slip rent money under the door. But she’s AWOL. She hasn’t checked in with her P.O. And if she misses one more meeting…”  
“They’ll put out a warrant and revoke her,” Hondo finished. “What do you think is going on?”  
“Last time we were together, I found drugs.”  
“You think she’s out there using?”  
“Maybe. Or maybe she-she’s just trying to guilt trip me for cutting her out of my life,” Street said. He looked at Hondo with urgency. “But I am not taking off to find out.”  
“Kid, being committed to SWAT does not mean that you need to stop caring about your mom,” Hondo said, putting a hand on Street’s shoulder. “But you were right to come to me. We are a team. So let us look into it for you. We’ll make some calls, see if we can locate her. But in the meantime, focus on your work.”  
“All right,” Street said, nodding and shutting his locker. 

Street didn’t have much time to think about his mom that day. Or the next, for that matter. Between Storm, the Love Matters parade, the parade protesters and their massive trucks, then Deacon’s surgery after his car was hit, he barely had time to sit down.  
“Street, kid, you got a minute? It’s about your mom,” Hondo said, pulling Street out of a trance as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him.  
“Yeah.” He immediately snapped to attention. He couldn’t read Hondo to see if it was good or bad news.  
“Chris checked with your mom’s job, she hasn’t been seen in over two weeks,” Hondo said. “Tan went to her place. Now we don’t know what to make of it, but there was spoiled food that hadn’t been cleared yet. There was no forced entry or any sign of violence. But Tan did find some pills next to her bed.”  
“Heart meds,” Street said quickly. “She takes heart meds daily. She wouldn’t have skipped town without ‘em.”  
“I checked with some cop buddies of mine and local morgues. Nobody’s turned up matching your mother’s description.”  
“So we don’t know what’s wrong, just that something’s not right.”  
“Street, have you ever considered filing a missing person’s report? Have people on the ground looking for her. Take it off your plate.”  
“And then if it turns out she really is violating her parole? I’ll have basically sent her back to prison myself.”  
“Even though we may have butted heads for how you handled it before, I always respected you for doing right by your mom. Don’t ever lose that.”  
Street just nodded. Turning away from Hondo, he called his mom again. Voicemail. He called again and sent her a text.  
Mom. Call me ASAP.  
He didn’t have high hopes she’d return his calls or texts. She hadn’t responded for several weeks. As much as he didn’t want to file a missing persons report, that might be his only chance of finding her.  
But then his phone buzzed. It was a text from his mom. Simple, short. But it was something.  
Jimmy. I need help.  
Street felt his breath catch.  
“H-Hondo,” Street stammered, then yelled it when his boss didn’t turn around. “It’s my mom, I — she just texted me. Or at least I think it was her. She called me Jimmy. No one calls me that except her.”  
“Street, Street, slow down, kid. Let me see your phone.”  
With shaking hands, Street handed it over to Hondo. His mind was racing. There was no chance this was going to be an easy fix. 

“All right, when did you last see your mom, Street?” Hondo asked, once the whole team was gathered in the situation room.  
“Three weeks ago — I saw her when I dropped off some groceries for her. I didn’t stay long. She texted me two or three days after that. I, uh, I didn’t respond.”  
Street ducked his head guiltily. He knew if his mom wasn’t OK, he’d forever kick himself for not answering that text.  
Chris, noticing his discomfort, reached over and rubbed his arm.  
“We’ll find her, Street,” she said, squeezing his arm before pulling away.  
“Who knows your mom is the only person who calls you Jimmy?” Deacon asked.  
“My uncle, I guess. A few ex-girlfriends. My brother-“  
“You have a brother?” Luca exclaimed, interrupting Street.  
“Foster brother. Nate,” Street said. Then he pressed on. “I don’t know if my mom’s friends or prison buddies would know. I wouldn’t think so. It’s a pretty small group of people who call me by my first name, or who know I rarely use it.”  
“You said you found drugs,” Tan said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. “What kind, how much and when?”  
“Right before I moved out. Probably half a gram of what appeared to be cocaine,” Street said. It still made him sick to think about.  
“Do you...do you think that could be why she’s AWOL?” Chris asked tentatively.  
Street sighed. “I don’t want it to be. But it’s the most likely explanation. She wouldn’t chance her parole for anything else. I thought I knew her...but... I don’t know. I guess I didn’t. She could be high out of her mind at a crack house, someone could have taken advantage of her, she could have OD’d for all I know.”  
His voice cracked on that last thought. He coughed in an attempt to cover it up, but still caught pitying looks from Chris and Luca.  
“We’ll see what we can find during on-call time,” Deacon said. “You aren’t alone in this. We’ll find her.”  
Street wasn’t sure if Deacon was aware of it, but the silence that followed his last sentence seemed to imply: dead or alive. He desperately hoped it was the latter. 

The David team was on a raid on Alameda Street, in Skid Row. They were there to arrest two known big-time drug dealers on warrants. They were also under suspicion for several murders in the city and would be a big grab for the team.  
“Alright stay liquid,” Hondo said — as he always did — as they climbed out of Black Betty. “Street, Luca, Chris, take the left entry. Deke, Tan and I will take right.”  
They moved into position. Hondo signaled, instructing them to make entry. They busted into the abandoned warehouse that was home to a major drug ring, according to their intel.  
Moving in unison, Chris, Luca and Street swept the inside of the building, which was significantly smaller than it appeared.  
“Right side clear,” Chris shouted.  
“Left side clear,” Street echoed, Luca right behind him.  
They continued through the warehouse, guns raised, until a creak in the floor made all three of them swing around, their flashlights and guns pointing into a dark hallway.  
“Take cover,” Luca yelled, grabbing Chris and diving behind an abandoned truck. Street followed, narrowly missing a bullet as he slid in. Shots rang out rapidly from at least three guns. As long as there wasn’t a fourth shooter out there, they would be fine.  
He peeked out from behind the truck, firing off several shots toward one of the men. He heard heavy footsteps, then silence.  
The trio hesitated before stepping out from behind the truck. The attack had been over too quickly for it to really be the end.  
A movement in the corner of his eye made Street spin around and fire a shot out. He saw a man fall to the ground, clutching his chest. One down, who knew how many to go.  
“26-David, suspect down, unknown number left. No sign of our targets,” Street said into his radio.  
He didn’t see anyone left in the large room, but the warehouse seemed to have so many nooks and crannies that didn’t mean much.  
Then a voice came out of the darkness: “Grab the pretty one.”  
Street and Luca simultaneously surrounded Chris, blocking her from either side. Street knew they would get shit for it later, but he wasn’t risking Chris’s safety to save her pride.  
Chris was in between the two of them, Street on the left and Luca on the right. Street didn’t notice the man sneaking up behind them until he felt the cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed against his head.  
He raised his hands slowly, drawing Luca and Chris’s attention next to him. But as soon as they spun around, guns pointed at the man behind Street, the man wrapped a thick arm around Street’s neck and pulled him back, the gun still pressed firmly to his head.  
“22-David to command, officer in trouble. Send backup to 837 Alameda Street,” Luca muttered into his radio. “Five suspects, at least four armed. Come in with lights and sirens off.”  
“Drop your guns, or your boy here will get a bullet in his pretty little head,” the man ordered.  
Street gulped. So he had been the pretty one. Not Chris.  
Chris and Luca were within several yards of Street, but with how close the man held him, there was little they could do to help.  
“Look, man, there are other ways to get what you want,” Street said desperately. “We can help you, we can make a deal--” Street’s words were cut off as the man shoved the gun into his mouth.  
“Shut UP,” the man growled.  
Chris gasped, and Street gagged as the barrel scraped against the roof of his mouth. His chest was heaving and each breath seemed to take an enormous amount of effort.  
“What’s your name, man? Let’s talk about this. Taking a SWAT officer hostage, that is not the way you want to end your day,” Luca said, keeping his eyes glued to the man holding Street as he bent down and set his gun on the ground.  
“Luca,” Chris hissed, seeing his actions out of the corner of her eye. “What the hell?”  
“Tell me your name, man,” Luca said again when the man didn’t respond. He ignored Chris.  
There was a long silence. Street felt like his heart might jump out of his chest, it was beating so fast.  
“You can call me Jensen.”  
Jensen had an accent, one Street couldn’t quite place.  
“Great, great Jensen. I’m Luca,” he said. Street could hear the relief in his voice. Street knew getting Jensen to say his name -- even if it was fake -- increased his chances of living. “We’ll put our guns down, you put yours down, and let’s talk.”  
Jensen let out a bark of a laugh. “I don’t think so.”  
Another voice came out of the darkness. “Come on man, let’s go. They’re not going to risk the kid’s life by shooting you, just get out of there. Lionel and Tag are already in the van. We need to go.”  
Street hoped Deacon, Hondo and Tan would get there soon.  
“Rudy, get over here and give me those zip ties. I’m not moving if he’s not restrained,” Jensen yelled back.  
Street heard a sigh, then another set of footsteps approached them from behind. Rough hands wrenched his arms behind his back and he felt the tight plastic of the zip tie bite into his wrists.  
“Done. Now let’s get a move on,” Rudy said. From the tone of his voice, he was scowling.  
Jensen pulled the gun from Street’s mouth and he frantically sucked in as much air as he could. He squirmed, feeling more free to test the limits of his restraints now that the gun wasn’t in his mouth, but Jensen smacked him.  
“Stay still,” he growled. He put the barrel of the gun under Street’s chin, lifting his head up. Then he dragged the gun slowly down Street’s chest, chuckling when Street sucked in a breath as he roughly shoved it down his pants.  
“Stop!” Hondo shouted, finally rounding the corner with Deacon and Tan. Street saw Deacon’s eyes betray him for just a moment, showing his fear, before his steely SWAT expression took over again. “Let him go, man. I have what you really want.”  
Street felt Jensen’s grip loosen slightly as he pulled the gun back up to Street’s temple. He used that opportunity to twist out of Jensen’s grip and elbow him hard in the stomach. He heard several shots ring out, but he wasn’t sure if they were from his team or the perps.  
Before he could kick or hit Jensen again, the man had him in a tight chokehold. Street struggled against his arms, but it was no use. The man was bigger and stronger than him.  
“Put your guns down or I’ll shoot him,” Rudy said, his voice cold.  
“You wouldn’t do that, you’d lose all your leverage. You don’t want a dead cop on your hands,” Deacon said calmly. Behind the calm exterior though, Street could see the fury that was likely reflected in the rest of the team’s eyes as well.  
“I never said I’d kill him. But a flesh wound hurts like a bitch,” Rudy said, pointing his gun at Street’s leg. Street braced himself for burning pain, but before Rudy could pull the trigger, another voice rang out.  
“Stop,” a woman said. “Martinez wants him in one piece, unharmed.”  
Rudy scowled, lowered his gun for a fraction of a second, then raised it back up and fired three shots at the team, who scattered.  
“Do not return fire,” Street heard Hondo his. “We can’t see well enough to be sure we won’t hit Street. That’s not a risk we can take. Retreat.”  
Street saw Chris open her mouth to object, but Hondo barked, “now,” and with a final glance at Street’s panicked face, she did as Hondo ordered.  
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your boy back in one piece,” Jensen called as Street’s team ducked out of the range of the bullets. “Physically, at least. He just needs to repay a debt. He’s pretty, it should be easy enough to do. Follow us, and he’ll come back missing a few limbs.”  
Street stumbled as Jensen jerked his arms back, dragging him along behind him. The two men ran to the car, dragging Street behind them.  
They threw him into the trunk of a beat-up black Chevy, not bothering to untie his hands before slamming the trunk shut.  
A moment later, the car sputtered to life and they sped out of the parking lot.  
Street hoped his team would be able to figure out what these men wanted from him and find him. He himself had no idea what they were talking about. He stilled in the trunk, listening carefully to see if he could hear any of their conversation. But the music drowned out anything they said, leaving Street as in the dark as he was before they threw him in the trunk. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point during the drive, because he woke up with his arms tied tight above him, his feet barely touching the floor. A strip of what felt like duct tape covered his mouth. His shoulders ached and his head was pounding. Had they drugged him? He wasn’t a heavy sleeper; he would have woken up when they dragged him out of the car and into...wherever they were.  
Street looked around. He appeared to be in a tiny, windowless basement. It was one room, unfinished. A chair sitting next to Street and a mattress in the corner were the only things in the room.  
He shivered as the A/C kicked on and cold air filled the room. He looked down and realized he was only wearing his boxers. His gear and the rest of his clothes were gone.  
He heard the sound of footsteps on stairs and Street looked frantically around the room, trying to determine where the stairs were.  
A door right in front of him opened. Jensen walked in, eyes roaming Street’s nearly nude body as he came closer. He stopped right in front of him. Street tried to pull himself back, but the restraints were too tight.  
Jensen smirked. He put a hand on Street’s chest, slowly trailing his fingers down his skin. Street tried to hide his discomfort, but couldn’t help but shiver at the light touch. He was wary of Jesen, wondering when the light touches would turn violent.  
“Such beautiful skin and muscles. So tight and firm...” Jensen said, letting his hands wander across Street’s chest, stomach, back and arms. “Such a contrast to those big dimples and pretty hazel eyes you’ve got.”  
Jensen’s fingers stopped at the top of Street’s boxers. Street held his breath, his mind racing. Please don’t please don’t please don’t. He didn’t want to say it aloud, to seem weak. The thought of Jensen knowing he was scared sickened him.  
After a few moments, Jensen took his hand away. Street couldn’t keep the sigh of relief from escaping. Jensen chuckled.  
“We’ll save that for another time,” he said. “When the mood is right.”  
He roughly ripped the tape off Street’s mouth, taking what felt like several layers of skin with it.  
“Who are you? What do you want?” Street asked immediately. “My team will find you -- and prosecutors don’t look fondly on people who kidnap cops.”  
Jensen clicked his tongue before grabbing Street’s chin, forcing him to look up at the older man.  
“I wouldn’t ask so many questions when the boss gets here,” Jensen said. “They’re not as nice as I am.”  
“Fuck you,” Street said, spitting in Jensen’s face. His face darkened, then without any warning, he pressed his lips to Street’s, roughly kissing him. His grip on Street’s chin along with the arm restraints were enough to keep Street from squirming away too much.  
Street squeezed his eyes shut and tried to make himself go limp. Think happy thoughts, he told himself.  
But once he felt a hand traveling away from his face and down his body, his eyes snapped back open.  
“Stop, stop, please stop,” he begged, pulling back from the kiss as Jensen’s hand slipped under his boxers. He didn’t hesitate at the top of the fabric as he had before. Jensen’s hand stilled and he brought his other hand back to Street’s chin, forcing him to look at him.  
The man had cold blue eyes, and Street could see his pupils were dilated with lust. He fought to hold in any sounds, or any sign of fear. But as Jensen wrapped his hand around Street’s cock and squeezed, a whimper escaped his mouth.  
“Not so brave now, pretty boy, are you?”  
Street could feel himself getting hard from Jensen’s touch. He knew it was natural, just his body reacting to the external stimuli. But he couldn’t help but feel disgusted at himself for getting turned on.  
His face burned with humiliation as Jensen jacked him off. He let out a strangled cry as he came in Jensen’s hand. Before Street had time to wonder why Jensen had done that, Jensen smeared his cum-soaked hand across Street’s face and chest. Street gaped at him, unable to keep the shock off his face.  
“It’s a pity your team doesn’t care enough about you to stop us from taking you in the first place,” Jensen said as he sauntered out of the room. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”  
As soon as the door shut behind Jensen, Street let his tears fall. Physical violence, he could have handled. He had been beaten up plenty of times in foster care, both by his foster parents and the other kids. His dad had smacked him around more times than he could count before his mom killed him.  
He could take that. But this...this was different. More humiliating.  
Nothing like this had ever happened to him. Not even when he was in foster care. He’d heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. There was always at least one kid per house who hated to be touched, who had suffered at the hands of the adult who had sworn to protect them. Sometimes it was their biological parents. Sometimes their foster parents. Street never stuck around long enough to find out more if the topic came up. 

Several hours later, the door opened again and Street jerked his head up. He’d been dozing on and off since Jensen left, trying to pass the time.  
Jensen walked in with a man and a woman Street didn’t recognize. He guessed it was Martinez and the woman who had stopped Rudy from shooting him back at the warehouse. Just behind them was an unfamiliar man dragging a struggling woman. Street’s eyes instinctively zeroed in on her. She looked familiar, but her short, dark brown hair was matted and covering her face so Street couldn’t tell why. Then he heard a moan.  
“Jimmy,” the woman — his mom — groaned, picking her head up with what seemed to be an alarming amount of difficulty.  
Street froze. Jensen’s comment about paying off a debt flew back to him. His mother’s debt? He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he would be imagining things, and when he opened them the woman would be a stranger.  
No such luck. His mom stared back at him, eyes wide and pleading.  
“I hate to interrupt this lovely family reunion, but we have business to take care of,” the woman said briskly. “Jim — you’re here, as you’ve probably guessed, to pay off your mother’s debt. She made quite a few enemies in prison and hasn’t followed through on promises she’s made.”  
His name sounded wrong in her mouth. Only close friends and a select few family members called him Jim.  
“Who-who are you?” He finally managed to stammer out.  
“That doesn’t matter. You can call me Abigail. Now, I gave your mother two choices. She could repay the debt herself, in any way she saw fit, or we’d take it back, any way we wanted. It’s a good thing she has such a handsome son. You’re going to be very popular.”  
Street could barely comprehend what she was saying. Popular? With who? But more importantly: His mother had chosen to not pay them back, knowing he’d be their target? He didn’t believe it.  
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” his mom sobbed from across the room. “I never wanted this to happen, I told them they would get their money.”  
“How much does she owe you?” Street asked desperately. “I can pay it, I have cash — not on me, but I can get it. I can pay.”  
“I’m afraid cash just isn’t enough anymore,” Abigail said. “And now you will pay for her carelessness.”  
She snapped her fingers and Martinez and Jensen untied his arms from above him, then quickly cuffed them behind his back.  
“Don’t try anything funny, kid,” Martinez snarled. “We don’t need your mom anymore. She can very easily be disposed of.”  
Frozen with fear for both himself and his mother, Street numbly allowed himself to be dragged out of the small basement room.  
When he tried to look back to see his mom, Martinez slapped him, leaving Street’s cheek stinging. He didn’t try to look back after that.  
His mind was racing as the men dragged him along. It was almost enough to distract him from the pain of the feeling coming back into his fingers and arms after so long being suspended above his head.  
Street still didn’t know what Abigail meant by “popular.” He could think of several possibilities, but none that he even wanted to consider. None that seemed rational as an equivalent to drug debt. Although now that he thought of it, no one had mentioned drugs. Just that his mother had a debt hanging over her from prison. Maybe after prison as well. Who knew. His mom may as well have been a stranger to him, with how little he knew about her. She said she’d do anything to stay out of prison, to be with him. But not even two months after she gets out of prison, she’s doing drugs. Maybe she hadn’t even waited that long, and that time he’d found the cocaine was just the first time he’d caught her.  
They dragged him up a set of stairs and into a room on the left side of the hallway, which contained a single bed. With wide eyes, Street stared at the two sets of handcuffs already connected to the headboard.  
Martinez threw him onto the bed and held him down while Jensen secured his wrists in the cuffs. Street jerked his hands, testing the strength of the restraints. They held tight.  
“Your first client will be in shortly,” Abigail said, sauntering into the room. “He’s paid a pretty penny to have free reign with a pretty cop, so treat him well. There are no limits, no rules and he only has to stop when his time is up.”  
Street’s blood ran cold. So that’s what they meant by paying off a debt. They planned to prostitute him out to cop-haters and whoever else was willing to give them money.  
“How-how much time?” Street asked, his voice shaking. “And how many people?”  
He desperately hoped it was just this one guy. He had no idea what the going rate for a prostitute was, but he had to figure that being a cop would up the price. His mom couldn’t owe too much.  
“As long as they pay for,” Abigail smirked. “I think 40 or so will do.”  
“F-fourty or so...people?” He felt his hand starting to shake, making the cuffs rattle as they hit the headboard.  
“Get him ready for Lloyd,” Abigail said, her voice sickly sweet, ignoring Street’s question.  
Jensen reached for Street’s boxers, an unpleasant smile on his face.  
"Please -- no, stop. Please!” Street gasped, trying to squirm away from the other man. Street twisted, landing several kicks on Jensen’s chest and shoulders. But it didn’t deter him.  
“Hold his legs down,” he growled to Martinez.  
Despite his best attempts to try silent, Street whimpered. This was happening. His heart raced as Jensen slipped his boxers down, exposing his entire body to the cold room. He squeezed his eyes shut in shame.  
“Don’t think I wouldn’t have my way with you first, if I could,” Jensen whispered, leaning over Street’s naked body. “I would thoroughly enjoy some alone time with you. You would be so beautiful with your eyes filled with tears while I ruined you.”  
“Jensen,” Abigail said sharply from the door. Street let out a sigh of relief when the man’s weight disappeared. He almost laughed when he realized he felt grateful for the woman’s help.  
The room emptied and Street lay alone for several minutes, bound, helpless and left with visions of the horrifying things he had seen done to women and men before they were killed. Raped, sodomized, tortured, mutilated. He’d seen it all in the 10 years he’d been in law enforcement. He’d just never imagined it would happen to him.  
He started when the door was pushed open again and he lifted his head up so he could see the man who entered. Lloyd, Abigail had called him.  
He was tall, but not overly burly. His shirt was loose fitting, but Street could tell he was skinny. He could see several tattoos poking out of the sleeves. He didn’t recognize the man, something he had been worried about. It would be so much worse if someone he’d arrested in the past came for him to get revenge.  
“I’m glad to see you are just as beautiful as Abigail said you were,” Lloyd said, practically purring.  
Street just stared at him, his jaw set. He was determined to hide his fear as long as he could.  
But that changed when Lloyd pulled out a knife. Street felt the cool metal of the blade come to rest on his collarbone, then trail down his body, lightly tracing patterns but not drawing any blood.  
“How easy it would be for the knife to just...slip...and open you up,” Lloyd said, and Street felt his breaths begin to quicken. He struggled to control his breathing as the rapid up-and-down of his chest betrayed him. “Careful what you do, pet, or I might have to take a souvenir home with me. A finger, perhaps.”  
Street stiffened. He drew his legs up toward his hips, trying to make himself smaller. But then Lloyd reached for his cock, and Street couldn’t help himself. He kicked out, hard, at the man’s chest.  
Lloyd stumbled back, losing his balance momentarily. His face grew dark. He grabbed Street’s leg and jerked it out to the side, wrenching it back until Street heard a pop and a stream of pain shot through his hip. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it felt like Lloyd had dislocated his hip.  
Street screamed at the sudden rush of pain. His hip flooded with pain every time he so much as shifted his weight on the bed. It hurt worse than any injuries Street had ever sustained. It was even worse knowing help wasn’t coming anytime soon. Or at all, for that matter.  
Street whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks as Lloyd pulled his cock out of his pants and started to get himself hard.  
“So cute, so good when you’re just terrified of me, of what I’m going to do to you,” Lloyd hissed, pressing his body against Street’s and rutting against him.  
Street squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of something else. Anything else. Anything would be better than this.  
He thought of Buck, how the man had saved his life after his mother went to prison. Of Hondo, who gave him a chance, then a second chance, on SWAT. Of Luca, whose golden retriever-like demeanor never failed to cheer him up. Of Chris...his heart stuttered there. That was too painful to think about.  
But Lloyd pressed the knife against his neck. “Open your eyes, baby.”  
Street reluctantly opened his eyes, his breath shaking as Lloyd ran his fingers through his hair, then down his face and bare chest until he reached his cock.  
Lloyd didn’t even bother opening Street up, but did at least generously squirt lube on his cock before he penetrated him.  
Street gasped as Lloyd pushed into him. He felt like he was being ripped in two. He stared at the ceiling, biting his lip and trying to keep his tears at bay.  
But a sob escaped his mouth when Lloyd bottomed out and began fucking him harder. Every push burned, and Street could tell he was bleeding.  
“Please, please, stop, please, stop,” Street begged, unable to stop the tears from running down his cheeks. He felt so weak, so pathetic. But he’d never experienced anything as traumatic as this before. His mind didn’t know how to react, how to protect him.  
It seemed like forever until Lloyd pulled out of Street, leaving him gaping and burning. He positioned himself over Street’s chest so that when he came, it shot on Street’s cheeks and forehead.  
"You're so much prettier when you're begging like that. Especially when you’re covered in my cum,” Lloyd cooed, cupping Street’s cheek with one hand before bending over and roughly kissing him. With his other hand, he grabbed Street’s hair and jerked his head back. ”But you’d look even better if you were a little...roughed up,” he added.  
He uncuffed Street, who scrambled back, as far away from Lloyd as he could get, which, with a dislocated hip, admittedly was not that far. But he knew there was no use. There was nowhere to go.  
Street felt his back hit the wall far too soon. Lloyd dragged him into a standing position by his hair and Street sobbed as pain shot through his hip. He couldn’t put any weight on it, so he balanced on one foot. Lloyd jerked his head back, forcing Street to look at him. Street tried to turn away, but Lloyd tightly gripped his chin so he couldn’t move.  
Lloyd threw Street to the ground hard enough that it knocked the breath from his lungs. He wheezed, trying to get his breath back. His head was ringing from the impact with the floor and black spots dotted his vision.  
Lloyd started repeatedly kicking Street in the stomach and chest, laughing when Street attempted to curl up to shield his body from the attack. But he couldn’t curl up much; any movement of his hip sent waves of pain through his body and blurred his vision.  
Street didn’t bother fighting back. He didn’t have the strength for it. He just lay still, his cheek pressed against the cold floor, taking the blows one after the other. His body ached and he could feel blood trickling down his forehead from one of Lloyd’s strikes.  
Lloyd dropped to his knees and ran his hand through Street’s bloodied hair.  
“It’s such a pity I have limited time with you,” Lloyd cooed, palming Street’s cheek. “I’d love to keep you as my pretty pet.”  
Street barely even reacted, which seemed to anger Lloyd. He stood up and nudged Street’s dislocated hip with the edge of his foot, a grin appearing on his face as Street bit back a whimper of pain. He then kicked Street, hard, on that same hip. Street was in excruciating pain for just a moment before everything went black.

When he woke up, Street was chained to the headboard again. The room was empty and quiet. He groaned as he shifted in bed and his limbs and joints protested. His head throbbed and he cried out as the lights in the room turned on. Someone shone a bright flashlight into his eyes, making him squeeze his eyes shut and turn away.  
“Turn it off,” Street mumbled, unable to open his eyes due to the pain.  
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” It was Jensen.  
“You again?” Street asked. He still felt half asleep, almost like he’d been drugged.  
“It’s your lucky day,” Jensen said. He switched off the flashlight and crossed the room to stand next to Street’s bed. “But Abigail just wanted me to make sure you were awake. Lloyd wanted to wait until you were awake to finish his second hour.”  
Another hour with Lloyd. Street didn’t know if he could survive that.  
But Jensen sounded cross, almost like he had been lectured by Abigail. Street wondered if there was something he could exploit there, something that might help him get out.  
“She sounds like a tough boss. I bet you’d like to be in charge sometimes,” Street said. “There wouldn’t be...clients, you’d have me all to yourself.”  
He found it hard to say clients — that made it seem like this was something he was doing willingly.  
For a brief moment, Jensen gave a slight smile. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. He grabbed Street’s chin, wrenching his head forward so he would look him in the eye. His grip got tighter and tighter with every passing second. Street could feel bruises forming.  
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. I see what you’re trying to do. I’ll gag you if I have to, even if it means covering up your pretty little face.”  
“I’ll be quiet,” Street said quickly. He didn’t want to be gagged again.  
Jensen slapped him hard across the cheek. “I said quiet, boy!” he roared.  
But he calmed immediately, ordering Street to open his mouth. All Street could do was watch as Jensen pulled his pants and boxers down and shed them on the floor before climbing onto the bed. He straddled Street’s chest and grabbed his hair, yanking him up until Street’s lips were pressed against his cock.  
“Open up,” he said, his voice dangerously low.  
Street chanced a look over at the door, hoping someone would come looking for Jensen and open it.  
“Not a chance, boy,” Jensen said, following Street’s eyes to the door. “Open your mouth or I’ll force it open.”  
Jensen’s hand was still tightly grasping Street’s hair, a reminder of who was in charge. Street opened his mouth. Jensen forced his cock inside, thrusting forward until Street’s nose was pressed against his groin. Street gagged and Jensen grinned.  
“Be a good boy and suck daddy’s cock,” Jensen cooed, his voice sickly sweet.  
Street squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back a sob. He didn’t fight Jensen, not even when his lungs burned and drool dipped down his chin and onto his chest as Jensen repeatedly thrust into Street’s mouth.  
He didn’t realize he was crying until his nose clogged up, blocking his one reliable source of air. He tried to pull away from Jensen, but he held his hair tight.  
After what seemed like forever, as black spots dotted Street’s vision from lack of air, Jensen released Street’s head and let it drop back to the mattress.  
Just as Lloyd had done earlier, Jensen came on Street’s face, covering his cheeks, forehead and nose with the sticky substance.  
He spat in Street’s face before pulling his pants back on and sauntering out of the room. That had backfired. Street tried to wipe the saliva and semen off his face with his shoulder, but found he didn’t have enough slack in the chain to reach.  
He hardly had put his head back down on the bed when the door opened again and Lloyd walked back in.  
Street glared at Lloyd as he drew closer, but he just laughed.  
“You’re nowhere near as fierce as you think you are, little one.”  
“Watch who you’re calling little,” Street spat. “You’re what, 5’5?”  
The slap came before Street even realized the man had lifted his hand. His cheek stung from the sudden impact.  
“I like you better silent,” the man said. He grabbed the roll of duct tape Jensen had left on the side table, ripped a piece off and slapped it over Street’s mouth. “Much better.”  
He slowly slipped off his belt. Street eyed him with apprehension, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He squirmed in the bed, but made little progress to get away from the man. This, he was familiar with. Of his eight foster homes, five had been partial to beatings as a punishment. Two favored the belt, and used it often. He knew how badly it hurt, the welts the metal on the belt buckle would leave on his skin.  
The first hit came as a shock, even though Street had been anticipating it. He gasped at the sharp pain the belt left on his stomach, which was already raw and bruised from Lloyd’s beating. There was nowhere to go to avoid the blows, so Street just squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tense his muscles to lessen some of the pain.  
Street sobbed behind the gag. He struggled to breath and felt himself start to hyperventilate as Lloyd brought the belt down again and again.  
His brain felt foggy and Street was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He knew it was from the pain, and the trauma of the situation. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about his team, about his brother, his bikes. Anything other than Lloyd and the belt.  
“Getting bored?” Street’s eyes snapped open, wide with fear. “I’d be happy to move on.”  
Street knew whatever came next would be worse. He shook his head frantically, and Lloyd smirked. He threw the belt to the ground and crawled up on the bed with Street. Street’s heart sank. He knew what was coming.  
But before Lloyd could touch him, the door burst open.  
“L.A.P.D. show me your hands!”  
Street let out a sob of relief. It was his team. He saw Chris, Tan and Luca charge in, guns raised. Tan and Luca went to subdue Lloyd, who scrambled off of Street with his hands up. Chris rushed over to Street.  
Before doing anything else, she pulled him into a hug the best she could.  
“You’re safe now, we’ve got you.” She sounded like she was crying as well. Chris pulled the duct tape off Street’s mouth, wincing with him as it ripped at his hair and skin. “We’ve got your mom too, Hondo has her safe.”  
“Chris,” Street sobbed. “Get me off the bed, get me off. Please, please.”  
Chris scrambled around the room, looking for the handcuff keys. It took her several moments, but she finally found them in a drawer next to the bed. She unlocked the cuffs and Street launched himself into her arms. He was unable to stop sobbing; the gentle and familiar touch was such a relief after feeling nothing but pain and terror for the past day.  
He felt another gentle touch on his shoulder. Luca, holding a pair of sweatpants.  
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a shirt, but the paramedics will want to clean you up before you can put anything on,” Luca said apologetically. He tossed the pants over to Street, who caught them gratefully.  
With his emotions running wild, Street had forgotten about his dislocated hip. He tried to scoot forward so he could put the pants on, and a burning pain shot through his body. He gasped and let out a low moan.  
“What is it? What hurts, kid?” Luca asked immediately, fretting around Street like a mother hen.  
“He dislocated my hip, I think. I can’t -- ah -- I can’t move my leg,” Street said, his jaw clenched shut tight.  
“OK, we’ll help you get these on so you’re not exposed, then the EMTs can come in,” Chris said, moving to sit behind Street so he could lean back on her. He sagged into her arms, grateful to not have to hold himself up.  
Street whimpered when Luca picked up his foot and gently slid the sweatpants on.  
“This is going to be the hard part, hang tight for me, kiddo, OK?” Luca said softly. Together, Luca and Chris held Street far enough up that Luca could slide the sweatpants up onto his hips.  
Now that he was clothed, he suddenly felt embarrassed. He had dried cum and saliva coating his face, and although neither had said anything about it, he knew it would be impossible to miss. He rubbed at his cheek, hoping it would come off. But it was mostly dried and only little flakes fluttered off.  
“It’s OK, the paramedics will have something to clean that off with,” Chris said quietly, pulling his hand away from where he was scratching at his cheek.  
It was silent for some time, Chris’s thumb gently rubbing Street’s stomach, just above the waistline of the sweatpants.  
He could hear the wheels of the gurney approaching, but rather than feeling comforted that help was on the way, he felt a sudden rush of panic. What if they weren’t really paramedics, what if they took him back to Jensen and Abigail?  
“Don’t let them take me,” he mumbled, grabbing tight to Chris’s hand. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go with them.”  
“They’ve got to check you out and make sure there’s no urgent treatment you’ll need,” Chris said. Luca had gone to lead the paramedics to Street and Chris, so the two were alone in the room.  
“No--I, I can’t I can’t I can’t,” Street stuttered, finding it tough to get full words out through his panic. He was breathing hard, but didn’t seem to be pulling any air in. It was as if his lungs had shut down, as if his trachea had closed and tightened upon itself, making him lightheaded and dizzy. He squeezed Chris’s hand tighter. “Don’t leave me alone, don’t leave me.”  
“I won’t,” Chris promised, and Street could hear her voice quiver as she spoke. “I’ll stay right by you the whole time. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I’m a new fan of SWAT, but I ADORE Street. Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
